


Dead Skies

by Sadepisara



Category: Ylvis
Genre: Ylvis viking au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-16
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-19 16:08:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1475860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadepisara/pseuds/Sadepisara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dead skies guard those who are free.<br/>Bloody clothes hide those who are unbeaten.<br/>Hungry seas carry those who are brave.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Skies

**Author's Note:**

> Basically I've craved an Ylvis viking au fic for so long and I have some ideas so I just whipped this up when I should have been sleeping. This is kind of a prologue kinda thing I guess? Don't know if I'm going to actually use it.

_Dead skies guard those who are free._  
 _Bloody clothes hide those who are unbeaten.  
_ _Hungry seas carry those who are brave._

Coldness was his only friend now. It was what kept him present, determined to stand guard. It was inside him and around him all the same, grabbing him with numbing claws and clinging to him tight. The cold depended on him, and he needed that. He needed to have someone, something rely on him. It was the only thing that reminded him that his weak heart still beat, however broken the rhythm of his life had become.  
  
Despite the newborn sorrow in his hollowed soul, his face was stern and looking forward. His eyes didn't blink even as the foul waters raged and spit white foam at him, roaring insults in a language so distant and foreign to his mind, yet familiar to his ears. He was carved out of the hardest stone, the kind that would never erode away. He was a statue that stood at the shore and looked out over the sea, watched them who had been lost out there. He knew the vast monstrosity wouldn't surrender what it claimed, and he couldn't force it. Still, patiently he would wait for them to return back home, back to blood and flesh.  
  
Sensing the heavy coldness in his body, he had to remember his face was still above the unforgiving surface, and he wasn't drifting away. He wasn't that lucky. He could have slung himself over the edge and let his heavy consciousness drag him to the bottom that didn't exist, but his feet were of stone. Statues didn't jump. His glassy eyes scanned the grey eternity before him.  
  
 _Weeping clouds haunt those who are_ _hopeless_ _._  
 _Rusty jewelry remind those who are forgetting._  
 _Dark waves whip those who are wrong._

He wanted to scream until his body couldn't utter his devastation through anything but low whispers, but he couldn't. He was broken in more ways than one. His voice had been forgotten long ago.  
  
He could damn fate all he wanted, his voiceless curses wouldn't make a difference. Fate didn't owe him anything. It was rather the other way around, if anything. But his debts didn't matter, not when he had been robbed of everything that made sense in his world, and the void was replaced with a longing that wouldn't dull even as the hiding sun paled his skin in the winters.  
  
Worst was the darkness this longing left in its wake. It ate at his feet, and he couldn't do anything but feed its black flame further. Dark thoughts attacked him from above like angry gulls, tearing and pulling at him while he stood defenseless and bare. His hair danced a vigorous dance in the icy wind, contrasting with his calm outside, yet clashing with his stormy insides in a union of rage and bitterness.  
  
Why hadn't he believed? Why was it that he had to prove his worth so eagerly, when truly his efforts equated drained pretense. He should take a warning for a warning, not a challenge. He should let his ego lie and wither among the roots of old trees, it had never been anything of value to him anyway.  
  
But the cruel cradle of the world would never be enough to teach them, their minds would not accept it. No matter how much death might flatter their own blades in prizes of blood, someone else's would always be a match too great for their lives.

There were days appropriate to take notes and learn though, especially days when the sea and the sky seemed to become one, like twins separated by force long ago. Days when the world was shaken, once, twice, endlessly until the minds of the people were scarred and confused, beyond reparation. Learning the consequences of life was reserved for these days. Days when you lost a brother.  
  
 _Dead skies guard_ _those who are_ _trapped in a place that never was home_ _.  
_ _Bloody clothes hide those who are scarred to their bones.  
_ _Hungry seas carry those who are foolish enough to believe in their luck._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what to do of this or if there will be a continuation, and I'm sorry it's kind of all over the place. I have not decided which one of the brothers die/has died either, but thoughts are welcome if there are any!
> 
> Also IF there will be more chapters I definitely won't write it this unclear and kinda dizzy, promise. And I might change this chapter a bit too if I continue.


End file.
